The List, A sherlolly short
by Maejones
Summary: A Sherlolly Short. We all have one of these, no?
Molly stopped in her tracks. The lab door swung closed behind her with a dull thud. Sherlock sat at her lab bench dressed in a flawless black button up shirt with the top two buttons open, revealing his throat. He was achingly gorgeous with his recently clipped curls. Her heart fluttered wildly with joy. She felt like she hadn't seen him in ages. Then, his elegant fingers swiped a piece of paper from the bench and flicked it up as he levelled his gaze.

"What is this?"

Molly felt a plummeting feeling within her abdomen as she gazed at the piece of loose paper Sherlock wielded. She wheezed in a breath. The paper contained just one of a myriad of inane things she had been scribbling that day to pass the time as she waited for some test results from one of her lab instruments.

 _"Oh, no, oh, no, oh no . . ."_

Panic sent icicles through her limbs. She couldn't see exactly what he held and his face was an emotionless mask. His blue-grey-green eyes narrowed slightly while she stood there with what felt like a stricken look on her face. Her overly-large eyes kept darting from his steely expression to the paper. She reviewed the silly things she had been occupying her time with and felt her face begin to burn.

Amongst the doodles and musings was at least one sheet full of various ways she had practiced her signature as Molly Holmes, Mrs. Molly Holmes, M. Holmes, Ms. Molly Holmes and every other possible combination of those two names. Another paper sported a couple sketches of wedding dresses and an elaborate custom engagement ring. There was a cartoon drawing of her cat toby curled up next to a skull on a mantle. She had written a bit of smut involving a certain consulting detective. All of it, every last scratch of pencil she had put to paper that day, was an inferno of mortification ready to whirl around her like a wildfire's twister.

"Molly Hooper, I asked you a question," Sherlock's low voice rolled towards her.

"I-I-I . . . I don't know what you have there," she choked out.

His dark brows raised ever so slightly as he held the paper out to view it. He cleared his throat.

"It says, 'To Do List'," he murmured, "except that it isn't a collection of actions, it is a list of men's names."

Molly tucked her lip in to contain a grimace. Her toes scrunched in her shoes. The skin of her face pulsed with heat again. She rushed forward and tried to snatch the missive from his hand. He stood up and jerked the paper out of her grasp.

"Give it back!" She cried.

"Not until you tell me what it means," he said blandly.

"None of your business," her voice was high and breathy.

Sherlock squinted at the words again. "Who is this Benedict Cumberbatch at the top? Do I know him?"

Molly shook her head as heat washed down her chest. "He's no one you know. J-Just an actor"

"An actor?" Sherlock scoffed. "Why are you listing names of- oh, God! Molly Hooper! Is this a compilation of men you desire?"

She thought she might die right then. His lips seemed to curl in distaste as he tried to reconcile his deduction. Finally, he dropped his hand just far enough that she was able to snatch the list from his clutches. She then turned and swept up all the other papers and marched them to the recycling bin, huffed and disposed of everything. She silently prayed he hadn't seen anything else.

"Molly-"

"Eep!" She spun around to find herself practically underneath Sherlock's nose.

He raised his chin, looked over his nose and scrutinized her features. "Why bother with this exercise? What purpose does creating such a list serve?"

She swallowed as she looked into his beautiful eyes. "Nothing. It was silliness, I suppose. Maybe I am just pent or something . . . yes, it has just been too long s-since Tom."

Molly winced at her overly-truthful admission.

 _"I am so ridiculous,"_ she lamented silently.

Sherlock's face contorted as if he smelled something temporarily repugnant. "And this Benjamin-"

"Benedict!" She corrected him with a sigh.

"Benedict," Sherlock sneered. "What is so special about him?"

Molly shrugged and cast her eyes downwards. She didn't want to admit that Mr. Cumberbatch had an uncanny resemblance to someone she desired even more fervently. She fiddled with her fingers as it occurred to her that Sherlock would most definitely look him up at some point. That was it, she was going to have to move to Siberia when Sherlock deduced she still pined for him.

"Molly?"

"Oh, my Lord, you are incorrigible!" She growled as she raised her eyes once more. "I met him once on the train to London from Leicester. He's nice."

Sherlock's head leaned slightly. "Nice? Sounds boring. Ug, did you exchange numbers? Are you planning to run away with this Broderick?"

She shook her head. "No, I am quite certain he is married and has a child."

"Hmph," Sherlock fished his mobile from his pocket and began thumbing the screen.

"Wh-What are you doing?"

"It doesn't make sense that you would be attracted to a married man. I am looking up Mr. Cavendish-"

"Cumberbatch!"

"Whatever," he grumbled.

Molly put her hand over his screen. "Sherlock, please . . . please don't."

He pulled the phone back. A second later his expression morphed from one of intense concentration to lips-open, blinking caught off guard. She covered her eyes. Fire raged through her flesh again.

"We could be related," Sherlock said in a flat voice, "in fact, he looks exactly like me."

Molly groaned as leaned back against the lab bench at her back. "Yes, of course he does."

He moved closer and suddenly, she felt crowded. When she removed her hand, he hovered over her. His eyes contracted.

"Why aren't I at the top of this list then?"

She inhaled a thread breath as she watched his lips move pointedly. "Truthfully? I-I think my odds of hooking up with Benedict are better, married and all . . ."

He stretched his neck as his eyes wandered her face, pausing on her lips. He licked his own before recapturing her gaze and leaning closer.

"You think so, do you? Well, care to make a wager?"


End file.
